The Salt in the Wound
by FAIRxxVIEW
Summary: Sequel to Demon in the Dark. Wendell returns to the Jeffersonian and realizes that many things have changed - most of all, himself. Will the team be able to help him recover? What problems can arise?
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: Okay... soo... um... I wrote "Demon in the Dark" .. a long time ago. Half a year, really. And I forgot about it. But I was, actually, going to write a sequel. It just took so long... It'd be best if you read the prequel. Because... Well, it comes before this one. You can probably search for it. Wendell is the character so you should find it easily seeing as there are so few stories with him in it. I don't own Bones or the characters. And, I'm not sure where I am going with this. I will set up a schedule for updates when I'm ready to. (I'm really busy for the next couple of weeks). So let's begin, right? Sorry this took sooo long.

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**WENDELL BRAY**

Three months. Twelve weeks. Ninety-two days. Every single one of them had been spent away with nightmares, terrors, new-found phobias and side effects from pain medication that hardly worked. He had been forced to stay away from the lab because of his knee. But staying home in an empty house, both physically and mentally exhausted, was worse than working. At first, he would jump at every sound: he would flinch when a car honked, or a motorcycle kicked. He would recoil in panic when someone knocked on the door and would fight an overpowering urge to hide when the telephone rang. Eventually, he stopped answering the phone unless it was his mom, someone from the Jeffersonian, or Agent Booth.

Then there was the dark. He hated the dark. He could almost hear the killer's heavy breathing, footsteps pounding off the floor; he could feel the terror of something jumping out at him and he tried to find a place to hide so he wouldn't get hurt.

He woke up from his nightmare screaming in panic and soaked with sweat, sheets twisted and pain throbbing through his knee - which had been badly broken and even after two surgeries, was practically useless. It would probably take at least a month for him to be able to put weight on it - even longer to be able to bend the knee. He could try to do both but the pain was excruciating.

His other wounds had healed (save for a deep fracture in one rib), but the scars buried just beneath the skin did not go away. He could still feel the blows, in his dreams especially. He could still see the man behind him.

He was dead. Booth had killed him. But the spirit haunted his dreaming and waking world.

He wanted to go back to work. He had told Cam and said he was getting better and could walk with a cane. He had hated the crutches. They were large and bulky and he couldn't even go up the stairs with them. He had had to get a second pair, one for downstairs, and the other for upstairs. He had tried to avoid going upstairs as much as possible, but sometimes he was forced to drag himself up each step, crawling and trying to avoid hurting his knee on the wood. The cane wasn't great though. It hurt his back and shoulders, and he felt like he was thirty years older than he had been before. He had gotten a special one though, that looked more "medical" than old.

He felt that going to work would at least put his mind back to "normal" things. He couldn't stand being home alone anymore. He'd rather be out there, with his team and his friends, doing something...

Cam had seemed to have sensed that and agreed to let him come in _only_if Booth said he cold. Wendell couldn't drive yet, seeing as he couldn't move his right leg below the knee, and would be a danger to everyone else on the road, so Booth was going to pick him up on the way to the Jeffersonian. Apparently they had found a body in an abandoned mill earlier that morning - around one A.M. - and the idea of a case intrigued Wendell. It had been a long time...

Booth had come over a lot just to visit. They hadn't always been a particularly close pair, even though they were on the same hockey team, but after that ordeal, he and Booth had connected very well. He saw it as guilt, though. Booth felt guilty for what had happened even though he had had no control over it. Regardless, his presence had made Wendell feel more comfortable because he felt safe. He didn't feel that enough lately. The Jeffersonian would be a safe place too. Much safer than his empty house on an old and tied road. He had installed new locks and a security system but those didn't help. If someone anted in, they would find a way inside.

It was around ten in the morning when Booth pulled over. Wendell wanted to smile in relief and excitement, but put on his best professional poker face as he limped to the SUV. Dr. Brennan was there, too. She had visited, but not as often. He was surprised she had visited at all though. She was busy. And he was just another intern, right?

Climbing into the car was a bit awkward. He had to forcibly push his leg over so he could sit properly in the seat, bt once he was settled, he was relieved to be off it. It was impossible to stand with no pressure at all on his knee, no matter how good the cane or crutch.

"Good morning Mr. Bray," Dr. Brennan greeted him.

"Good morning Dr. Brennan. Booth, thank you for picking me up," he said. Booth nodded once as he pulled into traffic. Wendell noticed the immediate tension between the agent and Dr. Brennan. They had probably gotten into an argument before, which meant they would be fighting the entire way back to the Jeffersonian. That was fine. He was content to just sit back and watch the show. It beat the junk on television.

Oddly, they remained silent the entire way back. He couldn't help but wonder if it was because they felt awkward with him in the car.

He stared out the window, watching the scenes of buildings and cars flash by him in a blur. His vision was slightly unfocused because he had recently taken the medication. It would go back to normal soon once it wore down a little. Still, it made him dizzy, so he closed his eyes and listened to the radio play random rock songs... That was strange... They never listened to the radio.

Excitement prevented him from dozing. He would soon be back at the Jeffersonian and everything would return to normal.

He hoped.


	2. Chapter 2

DISCLAIMER:Sequel to "Demon in the Dark". I don't own Bones or the characters. And, I'm not sure where I am going with this. I will set up a schedule for updates when I'm ready to. (I'm really busy for the next couple of weeks). So let's begin, right? Sorry this took sooo long. Partial writers block...

NOTES: Thanks for the review! I'm surprised you remember that story after all this time! I am going to try to update every three-four days from now on!

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**WENDELL BRAY**

Getting out of the car turned out to be more awkward than getting in. It was easier bringing his leg up than down and he nearly lost his balance, stumbling back into firm hands. "Easy," Booth said impassively. He realized that Booth spent a lot of his time trying to control his feelings so that no one would be able to see through them. He wondered what was really going on in the agent's mind as he followed him carefully up the steps to the front door. He was momentarily overwhelmed by an extreme feeling of relief. The last time he had been here was before he had been... abducted... and he had wondered if he wold ever step foot in the place of his dreams again.

Well, he got his answer now, as he walked through the front door and was once again met by the familiar yet different view of the lab. Changes happened on a regular basis. New machines were put in whereas old and broken ones were removed - more sections were added or moved depending on what the director wanted at that time - a bigger budget meant more decor, and lesser meant... less. The people came and went in an ever changing cycle.

He looked around at the faces of strangers. He wasn't here to find them. No, the real reason he was here went beyond them.

But before he could see his friends, he followed Doctor Brennan to _their_ lab and shrugged into the lab coat. _His_ lab coat. The familiar feel was comforting and reminded him yet again that he was in a place where bad things didn't happen and they were all safe together.

_"_Mr. Bray!" Heels clicked off the shiny floor as the woman with straight dark hair and brown eyes and a usual exotic dress spotted him. Dr. Saroyan had the eyes of an eagle and could spot the tiniest difference in the tissue of flesh from a mile away. Dr. Brennan could do so with bone - but bone was generally chalk white and problems were easy to spot... or maybe that was biased, because he had little experience with flesh and muscle and skin.

She had a partially suppressed smile on her face. He knew that smile from when she was trying to be professional yet couldn't quite contain it. She worked so hard on being professional. It surprised him that anything at all was showing past the mask.

What surprised him even more was when she threw her arms around him and gently hugged him. "It's good to see you," she said in his ear when she pulled back.

"Thanks," he responded with the best smile he could muster. "It's good to see you too."

And wasn't that the truth.

Angela and Hodgins suddenly appeared in view. "Hey sweetie!" Angela said and she too hugged him, and in her own Angela style, gave him a kiss on the cheek. Meanwhile, Hodgins smiled at him, slightly wary. Wendell had heard from Booth that Hodgins blamed himself for not being there. Wendell didn't blame him at all though. It had just been a simple... wrong place at the wrong time kind of thing. _Better me than any of them_, Wendell thought.

"Good to have you back, man," Hodgins said finally, and in typical male fashion, slapped him on the back. A small grunt of pain escaped in the back of his throat, but only Angela and Hodgins were close enough to hear it. He pretended not to notice their sympathetic and guilty expressions as he forced a smile.

"Yeah, it's good to be back."

An awkward moment of silence proceeded.

"So... what do we know about the new case?" he asked, finally breaking the silence. Immediately everyone unfroze and life began to move again. He was able to breathe out in relief when the usual explanations began.

"Thirty-eight year old man from Alabama meant missing three months ago. A bunch of kids messing around in the mill found his body - or whatever was left of it. Bunch of bugs and animals got to it and began to feed off of it. Looks like he was bound and strangled to death, probably beaten. No wife, no kids. Can't get in contact with his parents and don't know much about life. Going to be a tough case to solve if we can't find anything about the victim," Booth grumbled.

Wendell vaguely wondered what the man's name was. Were the parents alive or dead? Would they miss him? Would they even care?

Maybe it was experience that made you think about these things. he had been aware of it before, but never really thought too deeply about it. He had always avoided such thoughts as they did not pertain to the case. But they pertained to the victim, didn't they? Maybe he had thought of his parents and his childhood and everything he had ever done in those moments before some heartless and ignorant bastard took it all away. Maybe he had tried to fight back. Maybe he was terrified because he couldn't and he knew he was going to die - and didn't want to die. And all he could do is lay there and struggle weakly as a stranger who didn't know a thing about him and didn't care was going to erase everything he had ever known or felt or thought. It all felt sickeningly cruel. He understood now why Booth fought his own emotions so much. When science faded into the background and you thought of the more human side, suddenly everything didn't seem so black and white.

"Mr. Bray, why don't you come take a look at the remains? Maybe you can find something to help," Dr. Brennan suggested. That was what alerted him. She _suggested_ something. Nicely. Without an order and without any scientific base. For someone who believed so much in being rational... she did have a heart.

"Yes, Dr. Brennan," he said, immediately grateful do be doing his job. He went to the examination table. _What was left of it_ was right. Most of the victim's lower body was missing, probably having been eaten away by animals. He could see the teeth marks in the few pieces of bone that still remained. The bone had been cleaned, mostly. He saw age-old fractures along the man's clavicle, ribs, femur and radius. Must have played some sports when he was young. The age of the injuries seemed right for that kind of thing.

More recently were breaks along the three upper left ribs, received before death by the looks of it. The damage to the sternum told the tale of strangulation - very strong strangulation. Little cracks on the wrists showed how hard the victim had struggled to get free of his restrains. Bruises in the bones all over he skeleton showed lesser hits that probably had hurt like hell. As he looked over the bones, he could almost feel every hit the victim had received.

Wendell had been lucky. He had gotten away with his life. The man and millions of other people who were murdered hadn't received that _luxury_. Though what was so luxurious about it, Wendell wasn't sure yet.

Regardless. He had a job to do. He supposed - as he lifted the separated right tibia for a closer look - that he could try and help prevent the same death to another potential victim.


End file.
